


Freud can take his cigar and go fuck himself

by winged_mammal



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Blood Kink, Bondage, Exhibitionism, F/F, Knifeplay, Masturbation, Power Play, Sensory Deprivation, Strap-Ons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-27
Updated: 2015-07-31
Packaged: 2018-04-11 12:46:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4436048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winged_mammal/pseuds/winged_mammal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Root keeps invading Shaw's thoughts and dreams. It's getting to be a problem.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Exhibitionism

**Author's Note:**

> For the week-long POI femslash smutfest. Five chapters, one for each day's theme and which will be posted on that day. Slight AU where Shaw's cover was blown but If-Then-Else never happened.
> 
> Tags reflect the entire work - each chapter has one or two relevant tags, according to the theme of the day.

Shaw wakes from her dream, slightly sweaty and entirely too wet, with a blink and a curse.

Images of pale flesh both remembered and imagined taunt her as she flings the sheet away from her body with a huff and stalks through her apartment to the battered coffee pot in the corner of the kitchen, grumbling when she realizes she’d forgotten to clean it out again. She glares at the situation for a moment before seizing the handle, and liquid sloshes over the sides as she pours the leftover coffee into a mug and slams the door of the microwave behind it. The bottle of bourbon sitting next to her knife rack catches her eye, gleaming in the early morning sun, and she relishes the burn of it down her throat as she watches the microwave timer count down.

Stupid sexy Root.

Last time Shaw had checked, _she_ had been the one who’d spent a decade working out of operating bases with no time for luxuries like privacy, who’d seen more well-toned naked human bodies than most people would see in a lifetime of porn consumption and ignored every last one of them. And last time Shaw checked, _Root_ was the one with a complete lack of chill around Shaw, who never could resist an opportunity for an innuendo or a lewd stare, who had no context for seeing the subway station as just another base of operations subject to locker room rules at all times of the day. 

The beep of the microwave goes unheeded as Shaw’s traitorous mind dwells on her downfall yet again. Root barging into the subway car while Shaw was there eating a late lunch alone, talking about how the Machine needed her on Staten Island in thirty minutes. Gathering computer equipment into a bag while kicking heels off her feet, turning her back to Shaw and gesturing at the zipper of her dress, wondering aloud whether the Machine realized how impossible it was to get out of Manhattan that quickly. Shaw absently tugging Root’s zipper down and taking another bite of her sandwich. Root letting her dress fall to the floor and Shaw forgetting to chew as she realizes Root hadn’t been wearing a bra and plans to gather the rest of her supplies wearing nothing but a pair of low-cut lacy underwear. The polished black metal of her chosen guns contrasting against the pale skin of Root’s breasts as she gave them a quick inspection before adding them to her bag.

Shaw had felt a sudden appreciation for chiaroscuro, and kept her eyes trained on Root as she moved about the car in a whirlwind of chaos, never seeming to notice Shaw’s gaze. She tugged on a pair of jeans and a beaten up pair of sneakers that Shaw had never seen before, kicking her bags out of the subway car as she buttoned up a blouse that she never had bothered to put anything on under. Root bounded up the stairs as quickly as she had come, barely a word having been said directly to Shaw. The only evidence she had been there at all was the crumpled dress lying on the floor by Shaw’s feet.

And now here Shaw is, glaring at stale coffee on her day off, images of naked and sweaty Root still fresh and filling her mind from her dream, and utterly annoyed at how little she’s annoyed about it all.

Annoyance is annoyance though, and it escalates into irritation bordering on pissed off when she takes a sip of her microwaved coffee and realizes it’s gone cold again. Shaw abandons the mug in the sink and takes the bourbon with her to the couch, flopping down onto it and cursing Root’s blasé prophet bullshit. It’s going to get her killed one day, she knows, although whether it’ll be at the hands of Samaritan or Shaw herself remains to be seen.

Her phone buzzes on the table above her head, and she blindly reaches her hand back to grab it with a sigh. It’s a message from Root, saying she and Finch will need her at the subway in three hours, and Shaw lets the phone drop onto her stomach and flings her elbow over her eyes at the renewed flashes of skin and guns. Her hips shift on the couch and she’s reminded that her dream never did come to any sort of satisfying conclusion. She briefly ponders the merits of giving in versus taking a cold shower, before her phone buzzes again against her abdomen.

_I got to shoot three bad guys last night, in case you were wondering. Thanks for the help, sweetie ;)_

Shaw drops her phone and contemplates revenge.

It buzzes again. _You could have at least folded my dress, though._

The phone gets stuffed under a cushion. Shaw considers the problem caused by her dream, and she considers revenge. She considers the fact that Root tends to worry if her messages to Shaw go unanswered ever since Shaw’s cover got blown, to the point that she knows there are cameras in the entryway and living room of her apartment that she’s not supposed to be aware of. She knows Root will check them for foul play if Shaw ignores her for much longer.

Her hips shift again and her eyes fall on the spot in the wall that hides the camera pointed at the couch.

Her eyebrow twitches.

An idea forms.

Well, she _does_ value efficiency.

Shaw ignores the muffled vibration of her phone and stretches along the length of the couch, her tank top riding up and exposing her stomach as her hands reach back behind her head, loosening her muscles. A foot falls to the floor and she spreads her knees apart with a sigh, letting her right hand slip beneath her shorts with little preamble and she idly wonders how long it’s going to take Root to give in and check her security feeds before she pushes the thought aside and lets her fingers trail through the wetness left behind from her dream.

Root had been naked and spread out at the table in the subway car, neatly taking the place of Shaw’s lunchtime sandwich and being devoured just as ravenously. Shaw recalls a flash of an image of shoving something in Root’s mouth to make her stop talking, but can just as clearly hear the ridiculously wanton sounds Root made as her body writhed against the tabletop and her hands sought purchase on anything that could ground her to the moment through the rush of pleasure. Heels had dug into Shaw’s back when she thrust three fingers inside, as easily as they slip inside herself now at the thought of the way Root’s back had arched at the touch and her chest had seized in one gasping breath.

Shaw’s pace matches that in the memory of her dream, a steady and firm curl of her fingertips inside and her free hand pushes her tank top aside to palm a breast in place of the way her tongue had drawn circles around Root’s clit. She knows Root will have checked on her cameras by now, that she’s watching every hidden movement of her hands as they bring her closer to orgasm, and her head tips back and she bites back a moan at the sudden image of Root sitting at her computer, squirming and desperate to touch and utterly unable to do a damn thing about it since Finch is doubtless at the station with her.

She’d probably already be as wet as she had been in Shaw’s dream, as wet as Shaw is now. She’d probably beg Shaw for it if she showed up, with no thought for teasing or her usual games or Finch’s presence as Shaw stared her down and made her sweat. Shaw would take her to task for the cameras even as she hauled her to her feet and bent her over the table - she’d be wearing another dress today, and Shaw would push it over her hips and pull her underwear to the side and revel in her heat as her fingers thrust inside, and Root would beg and plead and moan and want more more more and Shaw - 

Her muscles clench against her fingers and Shaw lets out a shout as she comes, her throat bared to the ceiling and her hips riding out the waves against her hand as the two versions of Root in her mind tumble over the edge with her. She’d be so fucking loud when she comes, and Shaw wouldn’t know whether to gag her or coax more sounds out of her. Shaw dwells on the various ways she could shut Root up as she slows the movement of her fingers, her body twitching when she finally withdraws and brushes against her clit as she haphazardly wipes her fingers off on her abdomen. 

Her arm dangles over the side of the couch for a moment before she remembers the phone stuck under a cushion and fishes it out.

Several unread messages from Root are waiting for her, and Shaw feels a smirk play about her lips as she reads through them. Root had been watching, all right, not wanting to tip her hand about the cameras but increasingly desperate to know if Shaw knew exactly what she was doing to her.

_Busy this early already, sweetie? You know how I worry._

_You’re not getting any action without me, I hope._

_She tells me you’re home safe and sound. Anything you need a hand with?_

_I’ve got something for you if you’re hungry when you get here._

Shaw rolls her eyes and taps out a terse reply. _Subway at 11, got it. _She tucks the phone under her thigh and takes a swig from the forgotten bottle of bourbon, weighing the relative benefits of a shower or breakfast. The phone soon vibrates again and Shaw snorts when she reads the message.__

_I have to take care of something downtown before then. Wanna come?_

“Please, Shaw,” she mutters, making a face at her phone as she answers back, “come fingerblast me into next week. Christ.”

_Handle it yourself. This is my fuck off time._

Root never replies, and Shaw marks herself down as the winner.


	2. Knife play/blood play

Sometimes Shaw’s mind wanders.

She’s human, it happens. She’s trained herself well enough that it never causes her a problem in the field, always keeping a conscious eye on what’s happening around her while letting her thoughts run where they may. But she’s noticed a disturbing trend of late, of situations from the field causing problems in her wandering mind during her off time. The mostly-naked Root incident, it seems, wasn’t enough for her traitorous brain.

It’s not that Shaw necessarily _wants_ to see Root get hurt anymore. It’s just that she makes the most interesting sounds when she does.

It’s obscene, really, the way Root gasps when she gets shot. The hisses she lets out when she strains a muscle, or skins a knee. She gets grazed with a bullet or a knife and Shaw swears she hears Root moan before she curses. Shaw’s position as team medic has provided her with an intimate knowledge of the way they all react to pain - John’s a giant stoic baby, Finch handles it better than most civilians she’s seen, but Root…

Root is a badass, when she needs to be. Shaw’s seen her take multiple shots to the arm with no outward reaction at all, carrying on with the mission with a reckless disregard for her own safety that’s earned her a punch to the gunshot wound on more than one occasion. But when she’s lying on what passes for an operating table in the subway station, or a safehouse, or the back of an SUV, and Shaw’s extracting a bullet or stitching a wound, Root loses her filter entirely.

Shaw’s a professional, maintaining a clinical distance during field surgery is second nature. But she’d be lying if she said the sweat-stained and blood-drenched look didn’t do it for her, and when that’s combined with Root’s tendency to sound like she’s in the middle of a particularly intense orgasm when Shaw pulls a stray piece of rebar out of her leg - to say nothing of the writhing - then, well.

Shaw’s mind wanders.

It wanders mostly in the privacy of her apartment, when she’s given the rest of the world the finger and has sprawled out on her mattress or sunk into a hot bath because fuck you, that shit is relaxing. Sometimes it wanders in the subway station, waiting for a number and remembering that blithe display of scarred pale skin.

But it’s wandering now, on the job, and Shaw can only blame the fact that there’s no one around who wants to kill her anymore.

“There may have been a small explosion,” Root had said as she opened the passenger door of the SUV, joining Shaw in her secluded alleyway after finishing off her end of the mission.

Her shirt was riddled with small holes, dark red stains seeping through the fabric, and Shaw had rolled her eyes and shoved the last bite of her burger into her mouth. “Off,” she’d told Root with a wave of her hand at her chest, and she dug her knife out of her pocket and a lighter from the center console as Root struggled out of her shirt.

So it is that Shaw finds herself digging out shards of glass and concrete from Root’s chest with the point of a blade, being forced to endure Root’s gasps and hisses and fucking breathy little sighs that rational human beings aren’t supposed to make after they’ve only just avoided becoming swiss cheese. Her wounds are barely more than superficial, but the pain is enough that she has yet to comment on the fact that Shaw’s hands keep brushing against her breasts as she adjusts the angle of the knife.

There’s a chunk of rock the size of her fingernail embedded in Root’s skin, just to the left of her sternum. Shaw slips her knife around its edges to pry it free and Root lets out a whimper that Shaw’s traitorous brain latches onto and refuses to let go of. Her thumb presses against the piece of rock for leverage, and as it falls free Shaw’s skin turns red with Root’s blood, warm and glistening in the sunlight. She absently wipes it off on Root’s chest, moving her knife to the next wound, but her eyes keep flicking to that smear of crimson that marks Root with Shaw’s touch. Streaks of color varying in length drip down from each of Root’s wounds - one in particular travels from her collarbone down to her breast, slipping under her bra, and Shaw’s brain supplies the helpful image of Root’s throat bared to her as she leans in to lick it away.

The next press of her knife is sharper than is strictly necessary. Root’s entire body twitches at the sensation, and that mutinous part of Shaw’s mind finally decides to check out of reality entirely. Her hands work in efficient movements along Root’s chest even as she imagines sliding the knife between her breasts and slicing apart the material of her bra. Root would gasp, she knows, her breaths coming in short bursts as the tip of Shaw’s blade ran along her skin, tracing the outer curve of one breast, up to her sternum, back down the other. A trail of blood would be left behind in her wake as the knife dipped into her wounds along its way, its edge becoming plated in red.

As Shaw’s fingers pull at Root’s skin to better expose a shard of glass, she imagines dragging the point of the knife up the center of Root’s chest, lingering along the ridges of her throat, tipping her head back with it at her chin. Root would stare down at her through lidded eyes, silently asking for more. Shaw would move the blade to the side of her neck, watching it pulse with the throbbing of Root’s carotid artery, and Root wouldn’t be able to hold back her cry of pleasure when Shaw pressed the tip of the knife in just enough to draw fresh blood.

Shaw would let the knife drag back down her chest, the tip resting over her heart, and her free hand would come up to wrap around Root’s throat. Her thumb would brush over the new wound, smearing blood along the side of her neck as her hand tightened its grip just enough to feel Root’s pulse jump. Root’s head would tip back and she’d moan Shaw’s name, the knife slipping beneath one of the loose cups of her bra and pushing it away. Shaw’s bloodied thumb would come down to brush over a nipple, and as Root let out another moan at the touch Shaw would lean in and -

\- run out of shrapnel to remove from Root’s chest, as it turns out.

Shaw pulls back slightly and gives Root another once over to ensure she hasn’t missed anything, steadfastly ignoring the eyes she feels watching her and the way Root’s chest is heaving. She wipes off her knife on a napkin leftover from her lunch and shoves it in the empty soda cup along with all the debris she’d removed, and tosses the rest of the napkins into Root’s lap.

“Stop bleeding all over the car,” Shaw huffs, sitting back in the driver’s seat and taking the keys out of the ignition and gesturing at Root’s chest. “There’s a liquor store across the street, I’m gonna go get some booze for that.”

“Really, Sameen?” There’s a tone to Root’s voice that Shaw decidedly does not like, and it’s with no small amount of trepidation that she turns back to her to find a knowing look piercing straight through to that damned part of her brain. “I think a cigarette would be more called for after that, don’t you?”

Shaw glares at her and throws herself out of the car, slamming the door behind her. Whatever, Root can think she found her out all she wants, Shaw _knows_ she didn’t let anything show. She’s a professional, dammit, and besides which, it’s not like it’d be a coup if she _had_ let anything show. Root’s attractive, everyone knows that, and Shaw doesn’t think anyone would be surprised to know that she’s into mixing sex and knives. And blood. And choking. And pain. And any number of things, really, but the point is, Root didn’t fucking win something just now.

But god help her if Root ever finds out how much Shaw enjoys _listening_ to her.


	3. Bondage, sensory deprivation, and gagging

Sometimes Shaw remembers the CIA safe house, and wonders if there wasn’t a better way she could have handled that. She’s pretty sure that was the start of all this nonsense, and it would have been nice to be able to head it off before it turned into… whatever this thing with Root is.

Although, okay, in hindsight maybe telling Root that she enjoys torture five minutes after they first met wasn’t the best idea either. 

But it’s still all Root’s fault. She’s the one who whipped out the hood and zip ties when they still had ten hours to kill.

“So, Shaw,” Root had said, a grating lilt to her voice as she pulled a chair around the corner from the kitchen. Shaw had claimed the length of the lone couch, and Root spun the chair on its leg to sit in it backwards by Shaw’s feet. “How should we pass the time?”

Shaw hadn’t slept more than three hours in the past three days, was still nursing a gunshot wound, and her patience had worn thin long ago. She knew damn well what she _wasn’t_ going to do all night. “I’m going to pass it right here. You go do whatever you want,” her hand gave a dismissive wave in the air, “somewhere away from me.”

Root folded her arms along the backrest of the chair and propped her chin in the palm of her hand. “Two attractive single women, all alone together for ten hours in an apartment with nothing but a bed… and a couch… and a table…” She trailed off with an exaggerated wiggle of her eyebrows.

“It’s not happening, Root.”

“What, you’re not up for a little bonding time?”

“This couch and I can bond just fine while I sleep.” Root frowned at her, and Shaw rolled her eyes and finished off her beer. “Go bond with your computer friend.”

“How can you do undercover work if you don’t get under the covers every now and then?”

Shaw paused in her movements untying her boots. _This_ was the professional killer for hire who got the drop on her twice already. Christ, just kill her now, at least she wouldn’t have to put up with Root’s fucking shit-eating grin anymore. “Will you just shut up and go away?

“Be nice, Shaw.” Root leaned back in the chair, pushing herself off with her hands wrapped around the backrest. She gave Shaw a condescending look and Shaw wondered how much trouble she’d be in with the Machine if she strangled Root with her shoelaces. “That’s no way to speak to your elders.”

Shaw bristled at the reminder that Root probably knew everything that’s ever been in her record thanks to whatever creepy symbiotic relationship she had with Finch’s baby. “Tell your Machine to stop snooping on me for you. At least stalkers take the time to do it themselves. And please, you’re what? A year older than me?”

“Two and a half,” Root corrected, reaching out to pat Shaw’s leg. “And I’ve got the better decade.”

Shaw tossed her shoe at the inside of Root’s elbow. “Whatever. I’ll take the eighties over fucking _disco_ any day of the week.”

“You know as well as I do that disco was just an unfortunate mistake. Like your shoulder pads.”

“Don’t blame that shit on me.” Shaw doesn’t remember anyone in her family ever giving in to that particular menace, and she liked to think that showed a particular strength of character. “We had your precious internet.”

“Arpanet came online in 1969, actually.” Root fussed over Shaw’s discarded boots, straightening them on the floor beside the couch, and offered her a challenging eyebrow.

“You had Watergate.”

“Saturday Night Live premiered.”

Shaw narrowed her eyes. “Vietnam was still going on.”

“The Atari came out.”

“We had the Berlin Wall fall.”

Root’s lips spread into a slow triumphant grin and she leaned forward in the chair. “And _Reagan_ for President.”

“Ugh, fuck off,” Shaw scoffed, and rolled onto her side with her back to Root. She felt Root’s eyes on her as Shaw steadfastly ignored her presence, until finally some damnable part of her brain made her engage with her again. “Who the hell has sex under the covers anyway?”

Shaw could hear the insufferable grin in Root’s voice as she answered. “Sometimes it gets cold.”

“If you’re not generating enough body heat to keep yourselves warm, you’re not doing it right.” Shaw considered the words that had just come out of her mouth and turned to face Root just as Root started to respond, eyes bright. “And _no_ ,” Shaw pointed a finger at her, “I am _not_ offering a demonstration. I’m not discussing this with you. I’m going to sleep, and you are going into the other room.”

“You’re the one who brought it up again,” Root pointed out, full of arrogance or condescension or some other bullshit that Shaw was beyond done with. She turned back onto her side, arms crossed.

“Go to sleep, Root.”

Silence fell upon the room as Root considered her next move, until she wisely stood and moved the chair into the corner. “Fine. I’ll go take up that entire queen size bed by myself while you languish on the lumpy couch.”

“I’d be sleeping in the tub if the CIA guy weren’t already there.” She raised a hand into the air in Root’s direction, making a grabbing motion. “Taser.”

Root hummed and stepped back toward the couch, dropping her taser into Shaw’s outstretched palm. “If you want to share toys, all you have to do is ask.”

“You come out of that room while I’m asleep, you’re liable to get your head shot off.”

“Yes, you’re a very dangerous assassin,” Root agreed as she walked away. “I have no idea how I managed to kidnap you.”

The bedroom door snicked closed before Shaw could say anything more, and she growled as she rolled onto her other side and shoved the taser under the middle cushion.

She should have fucking gagged her when she had the chance.

It was with that thought that Shaw drifted off to sleep, and the next thing she was aware of was standing at the foot of the bed, looking down at Root bound to the headboard with zip ties around her wrists. Naked, of course, and Shaw had contemplated stuffing one of those damn apples in her mouth to shut her up but the mental image was too ridiculous to allow it to mar this display. 

She’d borrowed a tie from the CIA operative’s bag instead, and wrapped it around Root’s mouth as a makeshift gag. She allowed herself a smile at the sight, Root’s chest heaving in anticipation and utterly unable to make any kind of comment at Shaw’s expense.

“Is this what you wanted, Root?”

Root nodded, giving Shaw an excited wriggle of her hips.

Shaw smirked. “I really don’t think it is.”

There was a certain measure of satisfaction to be had in the way the gleam in Root’s eyes wavered at that, even if it did immediately return at the sight of Shaw brandishing the hood at her. Root lifted her head to allow it to be slipped over her eyes, and Shaw gathered the loose material at the back of her head to prevent it from falling over her nose. Not that she particularly cared if Root could breathe, but it would take the fun out of things if she were to fall unconscious.

Shaw pulled the keys from their stolen car out of her pocket and slipped the keyring around Root’s left middle finger. “You drop these, this is over.”

Root nodded again and wrapped her fingers around the keys. Shaw stood back and took stock of her - all pale flesh and long lean limbs stretched out across the surface of the bed, various scars dotting her torso dancing along with her breath, and Shaw was pretty sure that Root was already wet enough for a long, hard fuck.

Humming to herself in satisfaction, Shaw turned away and went to the kitchen for a snack.

It turned out the only things available were the apples, so Shaw washed one off in the sink and took her sweet time in nibbling it down to the core. After she was sure nearly fifteen minutes had passed, she washed the sticky juice remnants from her hands and fixed herself a glass of ice water, downing a third of it before taking it and one of the kitchen chairs back to the bedroom with her. Root’s head turned at the sound of the chair as Shaw sat down at the side of the bed, legs crossed and idly sipping at the water.

Root remained remarkably still, although Shaw could see the tension building in her muscles as she waited for something to happen. It was nice, having her so quiet and cooperative for a change. 

Shaw took in the goosebumps rising on Root’s skin under the slight breeze coming from the vent in the ceiling and contemplated the glass resting on her knee. The water was a cool sting against her skin as she dipped her fingertips into the glass, and the sudden twitch of Root’s body as Shaw flicked the droplets onto her skin was nearly as satisfying as the choked back gasp she let out around the gag.

“Are you cold, Root?”

Root’s head shook, a desperate motion matching the rest of her writhing limbs. Shaw had finally lit the match, and now Root was ablaze with uncontainable need.

“Of course you’re not fucking cold,” Shaw said, setting the glass on the floor and leaning forward, elbows on her knees. “You’re naked and exposed to the air on top of the covers, the air conditioning is blowing right overhead, you’ve got ice water all over you, and _still_ you feel like your nerves are going to burn through your skin.” Shaw fished a partially melted cube of ice from the glass and tossed it onto Root’s stomach, where it slid around as she twitched before settling in the dip at her navel. “You know why?”

Root’s hands clenched and she bared her throat to the ceiling as she shook her head again.

“It’s because I fucking know what I’m doing.”

With that, Shaw leaned over and pushed two fingers inside Root, relishing the contrast of the wet heat against her skin still chilled from the ice. Root’s hips lifted from the bed against the sudden influx of sensation and Shaw almost regretted not being able to hear her cries of pleasure.

Her fingers curled inside Root as she added another, taking satisfaction in the muscles she could already feel clenching around her and ignoring the sound of her phone ringing from the other room. There was something intoxicating about Root like this, the way her body melted at such a small point of contact between them, and as she felt Root’s orgasm overtake her Shaw couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to feel the heat of Root’s skin on hers. The ringing from the other room demanded her attention, but she continued to ignore it and as Root’s body spasmed and trembled around her fingers Shaw stood and drew a knee onto the bed - 

\- and slaps at the phone on her nightstand, the ringtone of her alarm falling silent. Shaw rolls onto her back and takes in the ceiling of her apartment, lit with the first rays of sunlight and decidedly not that of a CIA safehouse in Midtown.

Well that was… not how that night had gone at all.

Although, Shaw has to admit, taking another glance at the time and slipping her hand down her shorts, maybe it wouldn’t have been so terrible if it had gone that way.

This is still all Root’s fault, though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The undercover/under the covers line comes courtesy of m_lamachine. I told you I'd work it into this story somewhere!


	4. BDSM/Power plays

Shaw knew Root was trouble when she walked in.

It was bad enough, having to go undercover as a beleaguered assistant to the absentee CEO of some tangentially important tech firm, but then the situation had to go and call for an assist, and fucking Root was brought in to take the place of the CEO in question. Shaw didn’t see why Soldati couldn’t act as assassin bait herself - Shaw would be there the entire time - but Finch seemed to think it was an unnecessary risk.

So in came Root to work on a late Tuesday morning, for all intents and purposes Shaw’s boss, and for all that Shaw is completely pissed off about that fact it still takes her longer than she would like to remember it. She’s had a front row seat to Root’s chameleon tendencies on countless occasions before, and has come to have an entirely objective appreciation for her skill in that regard, but this is something new altogether. Something new, and something troubling.

Root, it turns out, can really pull off the power suit and tie look, and to a devastating degree. She struts around the office like a boss ass bitch, barking out orders with no room for argument, commanding every room she sets her tastefully heeled foot in. Shaw can only imagine how many guns she’s managed to hide away in those tailored pants, or under that blazer - her suit is a faintly striped dark shade of blue, the color obscuring any firearm-related lumps that may otherwise give her away - but she doubts that it would be possible for Root to terrify the other employees any more than she already does if they were to actually see any of them.

Shaw observes all of this from a distance at first, as Root makes her way from the elevator to her corner office, and it’s probably just as well that she has the extra time to school herself. Root has absolutely no right to look that good in a suit, and Shaw’s estimation of the dangerousness of this mission has just ticked up more than a few notches. 

This will be hell for her dreams, she just knows it.

Root catches her eye as she nears her assistant’s desk, and Shaw’s brow raises slightly in acknowledgement. The IT guy who’s made an annoying habit of inviting Shaw to lunch sees Root approach and promptly diverts course, and Shaw’s thinking that maybe this won’t be so terrible after all when Root finally enters her space, unbuttoning her jacket and leaning over the desk with a palm near Shaw’s keyboard. Her tie dangles just over the surface of the desk; Shaw can’t help but follow its length up to Root’s neck and the hollow of her throat, and when she finally meets Root’s eyes she’s looking over the top of her glasses at her with a piercing gaze and shit, Shaw’s going to need to add glasses to her list of kinks after this.

“Ms. Warren,” Root begins, low and dangerous and while a lesser assistant would have fled at her tone Shaw merely turns her chair to face Root more directly. “Can you explain to me why my car was not waiting for me this morning?”

Shaw has no fucking idea what Root is talking about, but fine, whatever, if she wants to play up the boss from hell angle, Shaw can play along. “I’m not sure, Ms. Soldati,” she hedges, letting a tremor into her voice. “Maybe Mr. Thornhill needed to use it again.”

Light dances in Root’s eyes even as she leans in closer, her body language oozing menace and power and Shaw finds herself torn between smirking and drinking it in. “I expect to be informed of changes to my schedule in a timely manner.”

“Absolutely, Ms. Soldati, it won’t happen again.” Her hand falls to a stack of folders and she holds them out as Root pulls away and straightens her tie. “R&D has those new processor specs you wanted,” she offers, eyes decidedly not flicking down to Root’s fingers at her throat.

Root stares impassively for a moment and Shaw wonders how long she’s going to be made to hold her arm out in the air. Root’s getting ideas about this game they’re playing, Shaw knows, but she’s not above adding impulsively punching her boss in the face to Dana Warren’s personality profile. It’d serve Root right. Hell, she’d probably call it foreplay.

“Thank you, Ms. Warren,” Root says, lips curling into a smile as she takes the files. Her lipstick matches her tie, the deep red of spilled blood favored by those who like to subtly remind their underlings just how expendable they are. And give them ridiculous pop-culture influenced sexually vampiric thoughts.

It’s a good shade for Root.

“I expect lunch on my desk in two hours,” Root calls off as she slams her office door behind her, and Shaw rolls her eyes and dutifully calls in an advance order with the Thai place down the block. Maybe she forgets that Root doesn’t like cashews in her stir fry, but it’s not like Shaw actually ever took the time to notice such details in the first place.

Root has no plans to leave her office for the rest of the day, in the interest of keeping up her character, and Shaw knows the goons that are after Rita Soldati won’t be making an appearance until tomorrow at the earliest. She busies herself with rearranging Soldati’s schedule for the next few weeks - an extended personal vacation, she explains to the clients she’s canceling on - but quickly falls into a mind-numbing boredom that has her tapping idly at her keyboard and contemplating whether Dana Warren is more of a solitaire or a minesweeper kind of girl.

Shaw’s eyes flick to the clock in the corner of her monitor and she doesn’t bother holding back the noise of disgust when she sees only twenty minutes have passed. Still an hour and a half until the delivery guy shows up with their lunch.

Apropos of nothing, her brain helpfully provides her with the image of herself splayed out on Root’s desk, an altogether different sort of lunch for her to enjoy.

Shit.

Her jaw clenches and she stares through her monitor, landing a few absent clicks on the mine-infested field of blue. She knew bringing Root in on this mission would be a bad idea. Soldati could handle a couple idiots with guns just fine by herself. And where the fuck did Root get off wearing a suit like that? That’s a three thousand dollar suit if Shaw ever saw one, and knowing Root it’s just going to end up full of holes and covered in blood and gunpowder and ash, her tie probably turned into a makeshift tourniquet around her arm… Fuck it.

So Shaw’s splayed out on Root’s desk. All right, she can work with that. She doesn’t have to top all the time, she’s perfectly capable of switching it up if someone can handle her. And Root, as much as Shaw may be reluctant to admit it, would undoubtedly be able to handle her. She’d have Shaw splayed out on her desk and would be playing her body like they’ve been going at it for months, knowing just where to touch her to turn the fire in her blood all the way up to eleven.

But that’s getting ahead of things. 

Root would probably call her into her office for some bullshit reason. Employee evaluations, maybe. That’d be just like her, to play up this fake power differential as long as she could. Well hah, joke’s on her, Shaw can play at that game just fine when it suits her. Which, admittedly, it never actually has, but if the past few months have taught her anything it’s that the universe where she and Root fuck it out on the regular is looking a whole lot less alternate and a whole lot more near future - and it’d only be a matter of time until they made their way down the kink list to boss/assistant. While on a job, undoubtedly. Shaw’s not one for pointless roleplaying, but if you’re already playing the role then why not take advantage of the opportunity?

At the moment though, she’s steadfastly denying Root the victory she’s clearly seeking with that fucking fuck-me/fuck-you suit. Her thoughts are her own, and as she dismisses the IT guy’s lunch invitation with a grunt, she enters Root’s office in her mind and finds her in front of her desk, leaning against the edge and looking over a file in her hands. 

“Your work has been… adequate, Ms. Warren,” Root says, not looking up at Shaw as she closes the door. She flicks through the papers in the file, Shaw coming to stand before her in the middle of the room and knowing damn well there’s nothing relevant on any of those papers. Silence fills the room for long moments, Shaw’s eyes drawn along the curve of Root’s body as she stands with one leg crossed in front of the other, until finally Root tosses the file onto her desk and folds her arms over her chest. “But I haven’t seen anything that really impresses me.”

Root unbuttons her jacket and hooks a thumb over her belt, a challenging eyebrow raising over the frame of her glasses. “Do you think you can impress me, Ms. Warren?”

Shaw knows this game. It’s called Fuck The Smirk Off My Face.

Shaw is great at this game.

A passing employee drops some interoffice memos onto her desk, and Shaw’s thoughts jump forward. She’s on her knees in front of Root, already pulling her clothing down her thighs as Root’s hands take a loose grip on the edge of the desk. One of Shaw’s hands crawls up Root’s stomach to hold her shirt out of the way, the other pushes her leg to the side - even with her legs splayed out in an utterly undignified manner with her pants around her ankles, Root still manages to look down imperiously at her, and Shaw meets her eyes for the briefest of seconds before leaning in and getting her first taste of Root.

She’s ridiculously wet already, Shaw’s tongue slipping easily along her length and flicking quick circles around her clit before trailing back down to suck at her flesh. Her jaw works to get as much of Root in her mouth as she can, feeling hands come to the back of her head in encouragement, her own hand moving along with the rapid movements of Root’s stomach as her breath becomes short and her pulse races. Shaw’s tongue can’t get deep enough and she brings her free hand up to put Root’s wetness to good use but it promptly gets slapped away.

“No,” Root says, breathless. A hand comes to Shaw’s chin and Root pushes her away before running her thumb along her lips. “Convince me that mouth of yours is worth keeping around.”

Shaw narrows her eyes up at her, but Root merely gives a small thrust of her hips. Her mind skips forward again, and her lips are wrapped around Root’s clit, scarcely able to breathe as Root pulls Shaw’s head against her. Curses and whimpering moans flow from her as Shaw’s tongue pulls the first tremors of orgasm from her, and when Shaw digs her nails into Root’s ass and uses her teeth, Root’s head falls back and she comes in full force. Her body trembles around Shaw’s and just as suddenly as it had hit, Shaw finds herself naked and tied down to the surface of the desk.

Tied down with what or how, she doesn’t know or care, but Root is standing there between her legs, fully dressed and immaculate as ever. She wants to see what else Shaw has to offer, she’d said, and her hands trace patterns over Shaw’s skin that make her need to crawl out of it. Root’s playing her like she owns her, knows every secret of her body, knows how every touch will affect her and how to drive her out of her mind.

Root hums and smirks to herself. “The system seems highly responsive,” she says, her clinical assessment of Shaw’s arousal belied by the enraptured awe in her voice. “But I wonder how long it can operate at peak capacity.”

Oh for fuck’s sake. Root has gotten so far into her head she’s actually fantasizing about her bullshit puns.

Root slips three helpfully distracting fingers inside Shaw and she decides to put aside her disgust with her brain and focus on the situation at hand. Like the way Root leans over the desk as she thrusts inside her, cataloging the way Shaw’s body writhes against her restraints at the press of her hand. Her fingers curl and Shaw twitches and clenches against Root and knows, just _knows_ , that she’s going to spend the better part of the next half hour being driven to the edge and denied any kind of release.

It’s the kind of torture she can really get behind. Root uses her hands to great effect, plying the kind of moans out of Shaw that she never planned on letting anyone else hear out of sheer wantonness. Her tongue barely grazes over Shaw’s breasts before her teeth latch on, she pulls a crop out of nowhere and turns Shaw’s already overheated skin into a patchwork of searing hot fire, her fingers fuck her so hard Shaw wonders how she doesn’t get a cramp - and all the while, Root instinctively knows when Shaw’s about to come and backs off just enough to keep her hanging.

Shaw wants to come - she’s almost desperate for it, long past the point of begging if she were anyone else. Part of her _wants_ to be driven to beg for it, just to know how it feels to give up that much control. Root flicks her wrist and Shaw clenches her fists and strains at her bonds and lets out a strangled shout as she’s still not given enough and if there’s anyone who can make Shaw want to surrender, there’s no doubt in her mind that it’s Root.

Before she can process the thought enough to know what to do with it, the phone on her desk rings and draws her attention fully back to the present. The display reads Root’s extension, and Shaw straightens in her chair before hitting the speakerphone button.

“How can I help you, Ms. Soldati?” she asks, professional as ever.

_“Come into my office immediately_ ,” Root says, and promptly disconnects.

Shaw sighs in irritation and jabs at the phone as she rises, glaring at the clock when she sees the time. She’d only managed to kill another twenty minutes, and now she has to deal with a simmering low burn for the rest of the damn day.

She pushes open the door to Root’s office and stops. Root is leaning against the front of her desk, a file in her hands - her tie is loose and she looks agitated, but the picture nonetheless only serves to remind her of thoughts she’d really rather not have intruding right now, with Root so close.

“Close the door,” Root warns, brandishing the file. Shaw complies and Root rounds the corner of the desk, pulling a stack of papers up from the floor. “I found her secret stash, Shaw. She’s deeper in this than Harold realized.”

Oh thank fuck. This kind of trouble, Shaw can deal with.

As Shaw steps closer, Root spreads the papers out along the surface of the desk. She’s dropped the boss act, full instead of her usual manic energy and somehow, the devastating effect of the suit is lost.

Then Root has to go and shrug off the jacket and roll up her sleeves.

Well, shit.


	5. Strap-ons

Shaw’s a sociopath, not an idiot.

She knows how to read people - it’s part of what makes her so good at her job, whatever job that might be on any given day. Knowing how to read people, and being around people with their emotions getting all over the place all the time, it’s given her an objective insight into certain things which sometimes, she could really do without.

But there are other times when she finds she doesn’t mind it quite as much as she used to.

Shaw knows that Root had long ago flung herself past the point of flirting just to annoy her. John plants tracking devices on the people he cares about; Root apparently installs cameras in their apartments, plies them with food, and looks at them like they’ve got sunshine coming out their ass. For values of “them” which equal “Shaw,” at least. 

Something had changed after Samaritan had come online. Shaw had told Root, the first time they spoke after scattering, that her ass had hurt for days after that bike ride to Jersey. She’d fully expected some lewd comment in response - had wanted one, really, in the hope for something to break the monotony of her new cover identity. But Root had simply looked at Shaw with a small smile playing at the corner of her mouth and light shining in her eyes, and Shaw had known they were in trouble.

So Shaw’s not an idiot. And she knows that she herself has had a major case of _the lady doth protest too much_. She’s been surrounded by a feelings-obsessed culture all her life, she recognizes that she has... things... about Root, whether she ever wanted to acknowledge it or not. Maybe they’re not like what other people have, but who the hell knows that happiness even means the same thing to everyone anyway? They’re analogous, if nothing else, and although every language she knows fails to be able to express what she may or may not feel, she thinks her actions should say enough. 

Root knows that, and that’s what Shaw likes about her. Root knows how to handle her. Root’s always known. The only other people in Shaw’s life who’d never tried to change her had been her parents. And Root was the only one who’d never even asked if something was wrong with her. 

And anyway, she’s hot and Shaw knows she’s always going to have fun when Root’s around.

Shaw hears echoing footsteps out in the subway station and looks up from the screens she’s ostensibly been monitoring. 

Speaking of fun.

“Hey, sweetie,” Root greets her, stepping into the subway car and dropping an obnoxiously pink purse onto the floor. “Didn’t expect to see you here this late.”

Shaw spins around in Finch’s chair to watch Root as she rids herself of the adornments the Machine had deemed necessary for whatever identity she’d assumed today. Jewelry, gloves, and ridiculously high heeled shoes get tossed away into a corner, leaving Root in a fitted black dress that comes midway down her thighs. “Well,” Shaw shrugs, gesturing to the monitors, “someone’s gotta watch the feeds.”

“We don’t even have a number.” Root pulls pins out of her hair and runs her fingers through it to shake it loose, and Shaw nearly misses her challenging look.

“Crime never sleeps.”

“True. But clandestine operatives do.” Root’s bare-footed approach is nearly silent, and Shaw keeps her eyes on Root’s as she draws near and leans over her, hands on the chair’s armrests. “You were waiting for me.”

That much was obvious, Shaw thinks. “I was waiting on a mission,” she counters anyway, never one to give in to insinuations regardless of what she may or may not have decided to do about them.

Root looks her up and down, her eyes lingering at the cleavage Shaw knows is exposed by her worn tank top. “The kind of mission you can do with no shoes and no bra?”

“Live free or die hard,” Shaw says, and smirks up at her.

Root smiles and pushes off from the chair, straightening her back and shaking her hair out of her eyes. “Always had you pegged as more of a Lethal Weapon kind of gal.”

She starts to turn away, and Shaw darts her hand out to catch her by the wrist. Root looks down at her fingers, brow raised but a certain lightness otherwise playing about her features.

“Sam-” she begins, but Shaw cuts her off as she bolts out of the chair and backs Root against the wall of the subway car, pressing herself against the length of her body with a leg between hers. Her fingers are still wrapped around Root’s wrist and Shaw can feel her pulse race as she raises her other arm to brace against the wall beside Root’s head.

“What?” Shaw challenges, pressing her hips in closer. Root’s breath hitches and her gaze flicks down between them, her free hand coming up to point secretively at Shaw’s waist.

“Is... that a gun in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?”

“It’s a fucking dildo, Root.” Shaw drops Root’s wrist and brings her hand to Root’s hip, pulling her closer and pressing the bulge of the strap-on harder against her. Root’s eyes fall closed as her throat moves silently, and when she meets Shaw’s gaze her pupils have blown wide.

Root opens her mouth to speak and Shaw cuts her off. “You get one chance to give me a straight answer, Root, or else I walk away.” She pulls back a little, ensuring Root’s eyes are on hers before she gives a barely perceptible thrust of her hips. “Do you want this?”

There is no hesitation. “Yes, please,” Root breathes, and Shaw allows herself a smile.

“Good.” 

With that, the hand on the wall comes to the back of Root’s head to pull her down, and Shaw meets her lips in a kiss that breaks the dam holding back her lust and sends fire coursing through her veins. Root’s lips are so fucking soft but the furthest thing from passive, and as both of their hands try to pull the other closer they lose any semblance of control of the kiss, mouths sliding haphazardly against each other as Shaw becomes torn between sucking and biting at the smooth flesh being offered. Root’s wearing some kind of flavored lip gloss and Shaw can’t even be bothered to comment on the ridiculousness of such a thing for all that she’s distracted by the little sounds Root makes low in her throat every time Shaw drags her teeth over her lip.

Fuck, she’d forgotten how great it was to make out with someone who really knew what they were doing.

Shaw drops her hands to Root’s thighs and glides her fingertips along her skin, wasting no time in sliding up underneath the hem of the dress. She can feel Root’s muscles tense as she thrusts her hips forward and bites Shaw’s tongue in lieu of her own, trying to hold back the whimper that Shaw knows was coming. 

That’s not going to fly. Shaw was promised sex noises. And okay, maybe those promises came entirely from her own fantasies, but they still count.

She’s going to get sex noises, dammit.

As Root’s hands fall to Shaw’s waist and start to track up her abdomen, Shaw decides to skip ahead a few steps and slips her hand into Root’s underwear, circling a finger around her clit with little preamble.

Root breaks away from the kiss and her head falls back against the wall with a startled shout that quickly turns into a series of ragged breaths as Shaw’s fingers play through her wetness before returning to her clit.

“Christ, how are you this wet already,” Shaw murmurs against her skin, leaning in to attack Root’s throat with her teeth. Root hums in response and the warmth of her breath washes over Shaw’s ear as her fingers continue to tease her. She’s so fucking soft and warm and wet and god, she needs to be inside her but between the underwear and the tightness of the dress the angle she’d be able to get would be so fucking far from satisfying.

But Shaw’s nothing if not resourceful. Root tilts her head back down and recaptures her lips as Shaw’s hand pulls away from Root and reaches into her pocket for her knife, flicking it open with her thumb. She drags the flat of it along the skin of Root’s thigh under the dress and smirks to herself at the way Root nods encouragingly through the kiss, and when the blade slips beneath the sliver of fabric at Root’s hip and slices it in two, Root grips at Shaw’s hips and whispers her name.

“Sameen…” Root repeats, swallowing hard to compose herself as Shaw folds her knife and drags Root’s underwear down her other leg. It falls to the floor and Root kicks it off her foot as her eyes meet Shaw’s, oddly calm despite the lustful haze hanging over them. “Sameen, I don’t think my answer even remotely qualified as straight.”

Shaw rolls her eyes so hard she sinks to her knees.

Her first taste of Root is - well, Shaw’s never understood why some people describe the taste of a woman as delicious; it’s only ever been just a taste in her experience. Something that’s there but doesn’t contribute anything particularly useful beyond its physiological purpose. And Root’s no different. The taste is there, but it’s no premium cut filet that makes her want to swear off any other restaurant for the rest of her life.

But the way Root reacts, now that… that is intoxicating. She nearly loses her balance and lets out a startled whimper at the touch of Shaw’s tongue, her fingernails digging into Shaw’s scalp to pull her closer. Her breath comes in shudders as Shaw explores her flesh; the slick warmth against her lips serves only to make Shaw want more and maybe this is what they meant when they said this was delicious - this overwhelming need to open her mouth and devour Root whole that has Shaw letting out a moan of her own as she presses in and loses herself in the sensation at her lips and sounds filling her ears.

Shaw’s hands climb up Root’s thighs to push her dress out of the way and hold her steady; her hips are canting along with Shaw’s movements and when she chances a glance upward to glare at her to knock it off and let her eat her out in peace, she meets Root’s eyes and pauses. Root is staring down at her with something like wonder in her eyes, her grip at Shaw’s hair gone slack and her fingers instead carding through it in what is far too close to a caress for Shaw to let it go.

She pulls away, licking her lips. “Stop staring at me.”

“You looked at me first,” Root breathes, and Shaw takes satisfaction in the way the measure of composure she’d mustered disappears entirely when Shaw slips two fingers inside her.

“Bullshit. I looked and you were already looking.” Shaw glances away, which may have been a mistake given that it points her gaze squarely at the way her fingers are being taken in by Root’s heat.

She adds another finger.

“Just… savoring the moment.” Root shudders and Shaw looks back up to see her biting her lip and since when was _that_ such a turn on?

Shaw shakes her head minutely, muttering as she leans back in. “I think I’m supposed to be the one savoring.” She hears Root’s laugh turn into a choked back gasp and smirks against her, pressing her fingers in deep as her tongue flattens against her clit. And it’s a blissful few seconds, working her mouth against Root and feeling her warmth on her skin, until she realizes the sounds she should be relishing aren’t coming and she looks back up to find Root still watching her with something other than the unmitigated lust that’s warranted in this situation.

“For fuck’s sake,” she says, tearing away and pursing her lips. Which taste of Root and all right, maybe there’s something to be said for that after all.

Root’s brow furrows. “What?”

“You’re staring at me again.” Her fingers pull at Root’s dress, and Root takes the hint and tugs at the zipper.

“Didn’t know that was a problem,” Root says, voice muffled as she drags the dress over her head. It’s not as though Shaw had forgotten what her bare torso looked like - she’d had enough recollections of that chaotic day that started this whole mess to have the curve of Root’s breasts seared into her eyelids. But seeing her again, now, in this context, with Shaw’s mouth still smeared with her wetness… it’s increasingly difficult not to bend her over the nearest chair and fuck her until both of their throats are raw. 

It’s difficult to even remember why she shouldn’t, until her eyes finish roaming over Root’s skin and travel back up to meet hers and see that same wonder from before.

“Look, Root,” she sighs, and taps her fingertips over Root’s hips. “I’m not… fucking something out here, all right?”

Root starts to speak and that’s the last goddamn thing Shaw can handle right now, so she presses her fingers back inside her as a diversion before continuing.

“I mean, I am, but that’s not…” Words escape her and she curls her fingers and growls at herself. “I’m not _just_ fucking something out, got it?” she finally repeats, and raises an eyebrow at Root.

Root nods, an insufferable grin beginning to spread across her face. Shaw flicks her wrist and presses her thumb against Root’s clit, causing Root to shudder and catch herself with her hands against the wall.

“Good.” Shaw shifts on her knees and gives Root one last stern look. “Now stop staring at me like that and let me go back to making you come in my mouth.”

And Shaw makes good on that promise in what is record time for her, though whether it is because she’s that good (she is) or because Root’s so far gone already (fuck, is she ever), Shaw couldn’t say. She presses her mouth against Root and forgets everything she ever learned about how to breathe when going down on a woman, focusing only on the way Root’s muscles grip at her fingers and her nails dig into her shoulders and her whimpers flow from her throat like raiders hellbent on destroying the last vestiges of Shaw’s control. When Root comes it’s with a deep intake of breath followed by stark silence as her body seizes around Shaw and the sensations she’s causing within her, and after endless seconds Root’s nervous system reboots and she starts breathing again with the most ridiculously pornographic moan Shaw’s ever heard in her life.

She can’t take it anymore.

Shaw pulls away, tearing her tank top over her head as she surges to her feet. Root’s skin burns hers when Shaw presses against her and Root’s breath hitches even more at the taste of herself on Shaw’s lips. The dildo still tucked away in her jeans grinds against Root’s hip when her hands grip at Shaw’s ass to pull her close. Shaw breaks away from the kiss and relishes the hiss that results when she bites into the muscle at Root’s neck, and her fingers undo the button at her waistband, her hips driving at Root’s thigh, until some part of her brain manages to process a thought and Shaw looks down and curses.

“Fuck,” she growls, biting harder at Root’s neck in irritation. “You’re too tall for this, get on the fucking table.”

Root is holding back another laugh, Shaw just knows it. 

“Make one fun size joke, Root,” she says, and pulls Root along with her toward the table on the opposite side of the car. “Go ahead.”

Root wisely stays silent, breaking away enough from Shaw’s hold to sweep an arm over the table and knock Finch’s papers to the floor. Shaw pauses in her movements at her zipper, and Root just gives her a failure of a wink. “I always hoped we’d get to do that.”

Shaw pushes at Root’s hips and Root situates herself on the surface, scooting her hips to the edge. “Whatever,” Shaw says, finally unzipping her jeans and untucking the dildo. Root makes a noise and Shaw’s gaze is drawn across the expanse of skin displayed before her, scars riddling the pale flesh flushed red with desire. Her arms are stretched over her head, lengthening her torso and highlighting the curves along her abdomen and ribs, and Shaw’s eyes don’t waver from the sight as she tilts her chin down toward her own waist and asks, “Can you take this?”

At Root’s nod, Shaw steps between her legs, feeling them wrap immediately around her hips to keep her close, and with a hand on Root’s hip and the other on the base of the dildo, Shaw pushes into her in a long, smooth stroke that already has Root writhing. And fuck fuck fuck fuck _fuck_ , this shouldn’t be so hot, the damn thing isn’t even attached to her body, it’s not like she can actually feel Root’s tight wet heat stretch to take her in, and she thinks she might have given voice to that string of curses because Root is nodding as though in agreement with something but Shaw doesn’t care because _fuck_. 

She watches as the dildo moves along with the thrusts of her hips, Root’s body trembling and clenching around it, and when Shaw glances up at Root she finds her craning her neck and watching it just the same. Shaw’s hands grip at Root’s hips and she catches Root’s eye and something breaks, something fucking breaks and neither of them can pretend to be in control anymore. Root’s head falls back onto the table and her legs tighten their hold around Shaw, and Shaw’s thrusts take up a bruising rhythm that draws wanton little whimpers that are so much better than anything she had ever anticipated.

With a last glance at the play of the dildo between their bodies, Shaw bends over Root, forearms braced on the table near her shoulders and shifting the angle of her thrusts enough to cause Root’s spine to arch up into her. Root’s hands abandon their white-knuckle grip on the edge of the table in favor of Shaw, one pulling her down by the hair at the back of her neck while the other claws at her back. They meet in a breathless, haphazard kiss, Shaw’s insistent thrusts and Root’s pleading hips too chaotic to allow any prolonged contact, and Shaw doesn’t give a shit what physiology says, she fucking knows she can feel Root’s wetness and the fluttering of her muscles as she gets closer and closer.

“ _Sameen,_ ” Root whines into her ear, begging so shamelessly Shaw shouldn’t be as affected by it as she is. But fuck, if the way Root’s body is moving around hers doesn’t make Shaw want to make her feel everything. It’s heady and it’s intoxicating and there really never was any chance of going back after this, after experiencing Root lose control with all of her senses and having her crumble at her touch.

Shaw’s not going to come first, she’s not going to come first, she’s not-

Root’s arms wrap around Shaw’s back to pull herself up into her neck, and Root’s teeth sink into the muscle as she lets out a long and drawn out moan against her skin.

Shaw comes first.

But it’s a near thing.

And really, Shaw thinks they’ve both won this one.


End file.
